Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 442(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
She bites her lip, a twinkle in her eyes. “Yes, but your reaction was worth it.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
“Oh, come on! I’m teasing.” She bumps into me gently. “If you can handle three-hundred-pound giants trying to crush you on a football field, I think you can handle log chopping for a few minutes.”
Up in the announcer’s stand, a microphone crackles. “All right, folks! Who’s ready to see some real lumberjacks in action?”
The crowd cheers, and my stomach drops.
Lucy notices my expression; her smirk softens into something gentler. She steps closer, lowering her voice. “You’ll be fine.”
“Sure,” I mutter. “If by fine you mean humiliated in front of half the town, then yeah. I’ll be fine.”
“You got this,” she says softly. “This started as fun—so go out there and have fun.”
I let out a slow breath, my grip tightening around the axe handle.
Fun. That’s what all this is about—the whole week, actually. This is what our coaching staff had in mind when they sent us to Star Lake. Comradery. Team building. Bonding.
Fun.
I scan the crowd for more familiar faces—sure enough, Miles, Deshaun, Dex, and a few others stick out like sore thumbs, the families around them seemingly oblivious to the larger-than-life figures among them. They’re here for a show!
Lucy steps in front of me, resting her hands lightly against my chest.
My pulse spikes.
“You know . . .” she muses, voice dropping flirtatiously. “You might need some extra luck.”
“Oh yeah?” My throat goes dry. “How extra?”
“Very extra.” Her fingers flex against my black-and-red flannel shirt, the smallest movement, but I feel it everywhere. Then—I watch transfixed as she rises on her toes and presses her lips to mine.
It’s not a quick peck, not some playful good luck peck on the cheek.
Nope.
It’s slow. Lingering.
The kind of kiss that has me gripping the axe tighter, fighting the urge to drop it and pull her against me completely. The kind that makes my ribs ache for an entirely different reason.
The kind of kiss that makes my dick hard.
Lucy finally pulls back, lips curling into a satisfied smile. My brain? Scrambled. My grip on the axe? Wobbly. My entire body? Tense in a way that has me wanting to scoop her up, carry her off, and bang her in the bed of my pickup truck.
And, judging by the eruption of laughter from behind me, my lumberjack coworkers appreciate it too. Kyle lets out a low whistle. “Somebody’s got a serious case of morning wood—and it ain’t me.”
The guys erupt into laughter.
I shoot Kyle a glare. “Jesus Christ. Be a damn gentleman—there are ladies present.”
He smirks. “What I meant was, we’re all about to chop wood.”
Wally waggles his brows. “If I got a kiss like that before competing, I’d be swinging too hard.”
Kyle snickers. “Or not hard enough.”
“Enough.” Annabelle claps her hands, interrupting us—thank God. “Rein it in. We have an audience, and I refuse to let you ruin this event before it starts.”
“We’re playing to the crowd.” Kyle grins. “You told us to give the people what they want . . .”
“You know what people don’t want?” Annabelle counters. “To hear you two rambling about your lack of wood while they sip cider with their cute families. Now, enough innuendos—axes up!”
Then she gives Lucy a tiny nudge. “Luce—time is up. You’ve sufficiently flustered Harris.” Annabelle waves her hand toward the bleachers. “Shoo, shoo—off you go. Let the man do his job.”
Lucy grins at her best friend but follows her directions, taking a step back. “You’re going to do great,” she tells me. “Do your best.”
Do my best?
I laugh as she kisses me one last time before jogging back up to the stands, ponytail bouncing.
The announcer’s voice crackles over the speakers. “Ladies and gentleman! It’s time for the first round of the standing block chop! Let’s hear it for our competitors as they step up in position!”
The crowd erupts, a mix of cheers, whistles, and a few good-natured boos from my teammates, who are clearly enjoying the spectacle of Harris in flannel, pretending to be a lumberjack.
Kyle elbows me as we step up to our respective logs. “You look like you’re in a goddamn Hallmark movie.”
“Was that a compliment?”
He grunts.
As I’m adjusting my grip on the axe handle, the announcer’s voice crackles once more. “Well, well, well, folks! I’ve been informed we’ve got ourselves a special guest competitor in today’s competition!”
I freeze.
Oh shit.
The last fucking thing I want is more attention on myself.
The mood shifts, murmurs of curiosity rippling through the stands. The audience members crane their necks.
My stomach drops into my ass.
“Now, I don’t know if y’all noticed,” the announcer continues, dragging out this pronouncement, savoring every damn syllable. “But chopping wood isn’t the only thing this guy does. You might recognize him from Sunday Night Football because standing right here in front of us, ready to take on some good old-fashioned timber, is none other than Harris Bennett from the Arizona Sentinels! And he’s brought along a few of his friends.”